Chapter Eleven
The next morning, Nora stood in the kitchen, scrubbing a plate that no longer had anything to do with needing it. The dish was already clean, but she kept at it anyway. The warm water had gone lukewarm, and her knuckles red.
He stormed off again. Just like that…
Nora was tired of chasing ghosts in a man who wouldn’t even meet her halfway.
She heard the creak of floorboards above. Mary Jane, likely settled in her room with her dolls, had barely registered the storm between them, which was a good thing. The child didn’t need more tension weighing on her little shoulders.
Behind her, June cleared her throat. Nora didn’t turn around. “He looked hurt,” June said gently. “Not angry. But really, really hurt.”
Nora’s hands stilled in the water. She set the plate aside, bracing both palms on the edge of the sink. “He never says anything,” she muttered. “He just shuts down and disappears. What am I supposed to do with that?”
June crossed the kitchen slowly. Her voice was quiet, like she was talking to a skittish horse. “You could ask him. Or at least try to understand. That kind of silence…it usually comes from someplace painful. Someplace sore. I thought you already knew that, Nora.”
Nora closed her eyes. She hated how reasonable June sounded. She hated how the words found purchase in her already-flickering guilt.
“Mary Jane doesn’t need this kind of tension in the house,” June added, softer now. “None of us do.”
Nora swallowed the lump in her throat. Her arms felt heavy, like they belonged to someone else. She wasn’t ready to forgive him for shutting her out, but she wasn’t ready to let the distance grow, either.
“I’ll talk to him,” she said after a moment. “After supper.”
***
Supper passed like a thunderstorm trapped behind closed windows.
It was quiet, but thick with pressure. The clink of cutlery against plates was the only real sound, and each scrape sounded like a wince.
Weston didn’t look up from his stew. His jaw was tight, and every movement was stiff with restraint.
Nora, sitting opposite, said little. She didn’t trust her own voice because she didn’t want it to come out too sharp.
Mary Jane, blessedly oblivious, chattered about a story she’d made up about a lost squirrel and a bluebird who found it a house in the woods.
“And the squirrel was very, very small,” she said between spoonfuls of stew, “so small he could fit inside a teacup. But he didn’t like teacups, because they were too slippery.
So the bluebird helped him build a house out of leaves and pinecones. ”
June smiled from her seat beside her. “That was very clever of the bluebird. Did they live there together?”
Mary Jane nodded, with her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Yes, but only after the squirrel promised not to chew on the furniture. He had a problem with that.”
June chuckled softly. “Sounds like they had a real understanding. That’s important, when you live with someone.”
Nora managed a mild smile. She was glad June was talking, carrying the warmth in a room that otherwise felt like a stalled wagon.
Across the table, Weston didn’t say a word.
He ate like it was a chore. His gaze was still locked somewhere past the edge of his bowl.
His silence grated on her nerves, though she tried not to let it show.
Suddenly, Mary Jane turned to him, holding her spoon in hand. “Weston, what do squirrels eat?”
He looked up, as if surprised to be addressed at all. “Mostly nuts,” he said after a pause. “Sometimes seeds. Maybe a berry or two if they’re lucky.”
Mary Jane gave him a thoughtful nod, clearly taking this information seriously. “Then I’ll add a berry bush to their front yard.”
Nora cleared her throat lightly. “Sounds like they’ll be well taken care of.”
“Of course,” Mary Jane said proudly. “The bluebird said they’d never be lonely again.”
Nora’s chest gave a small ache. The way her sister said it, it sounded like a wish tucked inside a story.
“Well,” June said gently, touching Mary Jane’s arm, “that’s a very fine ending. I think the squirrel’s lucky he found such a kind friend.”
Mary Jane grinned. “That’s what Nora says about Weston.”
Nora’s spoon paused midair. She’d never said that. Weston shifted slightly in his chair but didn’t look up. June’s brows rose slightly, but she said nothing.
Nora forced a soft laugh. “Eat your supper, little storyteller.”
Mary Jane giggled and obeyed, humming as she scooped up the last of her carrots.
The tension in the room, though momentarily softened, settled again like dust on furniture.
Only now, it was heavier. Quieter. And Nora found herself watching Weston from the corner of her eye, wondering how many kinds of loneliness a man could carry… and how many of them she’d missed.
After supper, June gave her a look, one that said Talk to him, as she gently ushered Mary Jane upstairs to ready her for bed.
The house grew quieter; the fire was burning low.
Nora stood at the hearth with her arms folded, feeling the tension in her shoulders refusing to ease.
Weston sat at the table, his hands clasped in front of him like he was bracing for an interrogation.
She hated how wide the room suddenly felt.
Nora turned to face him. “About earlier,” she began hesitantly, yet keeping her voice steady. “At the wedding lunch. I asked you to say a few words and you…” She paused. “You looked like you wanted to be anywhere but there.”
Weston didn’t answer at first. He leaned back in the chair and narrowed his eyes. Not at her, but at something inward, something far off. She could tell he was chewing on it. That was something. Usually, he just left.
“I wasn’t trying to shame you,” she added, gently now. “I didn’t know it would—”
“I know,” he said, voice low. Rough. “It ain’t about you. Not really.”
He exhaled through his nose, as his fingers flexed against the table. “It’s just…” He trailed off, jaw twitching.
Just what? Just what happened to you that makes you flinch from kindness like it burns?
Nora had so many questions, But she stayed quiet, letting him come to it in his own time.
“I’ve never had a reason to speak of my folks before,” he said finally.
Nora’s throat tightened as the words started sinking in like cold rain. Before she could respond, a thud sounded from the staircase. Then the slap of small feet against the floor.
“Nora!” she heard June’s sharp and worried voice.
Mary Jane stumbled into the kitchen doorway, pale and trembling. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, and her cheeks flushed too bright. And then, she doubled over and vomited right onto the floorboards.
Nora was already moving.
“Oh, sweetheart!” She caught her just in time, as her arms reached under her little sister. The child was burning up, her face was pale, and her breath was shallow and quick.
Weston stood too, making his chair scrape back. “I’ll get water.”
“Blankets,” Nora said, cradling Mary Jane against her. “We need to cool her down. Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong.”
The conversation vanished. Whatever they’d been edging toward evaporated like morning mist. Mary Jane whimpered softly in her arms, and all Nora could think now was: Please, not her too.
***
That night, the two of them moved like instinct. There were no words at first, just motion.
Weston was already at the washbasin, filling it with cool water, while Nora knelt on the floor with Mary Jane trembling in her arms. The child’s vomit stained her nightdress and dripped onto the floorboards, but Nora couldn’t bring herself to care.
She cradled her sister closer, as her heart kept hammering in her throat.
“Here,” Weston said, crouching beside her with a damp cloth in his hand.
Nora flinched, surprised by how steady his voice was. It was low, calm, and the edges softened. He reached out, gently brushing Mary Jane’s forehead with the cloth.
“She’s burning up,” Nora murmured with a breaking voice. “I don’t know what started it. You saw her. She was fine at supper…”
“She’s still burning,” Weston said, glancing at the basin. “We need to get her out of this dress. Cool her down.”
Nora nodded and worked quickly, peeling away the damp fabric. Weston turned slightly to give her privacy, though he stayed close. Once Mary Jane was cleaned and wrapped in a fresh sheet, they moved her to the settee near the fire, propping her up with pillows.
“I’ll change the water,” Weston said quietly. “Be right back.”
Nora pressed a kiss to Mary Jane’s damp hair, and whispered, “You’re all right, little bug. Just hang on.”
When Weston returned, he knelt again, wringing out the cloth and placing it gently across Mary Jane’s forehead. Nora watched him with worry. “You’re good at this,” she said softly.
“I’ve seen enough of it,” he replied without looking at her. “Fever like this… My sister used to get them. My ma too, near the end.”
Nora blinked, unsure what to say. It was the first time he’d spoken plainly about his past. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
Weston shrugged. “Nothing to be done for it now. But I remember the way they’d shake. The heat that came off them…like a fire under the skin.” He looked over at her. “You’re doing everything right.”
She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear that until the words landed. Her throat tightened again.
Hours passed in fragments. They sat side by side, taking turns pressing cool cloths to Mary Jane’s forehead, whispering to her, coaxing her to drink sips of water when she stirred. June had fallen asleep upstairs, and the night stretched long and hushed around them.
At one point, Weston leaned back in the chair and rubbed his eyes.
“You should get some sleep,” Nora said. “I can manage for a while.”
He gave her a tired, crooked smile. “Reckon I’m stubborn too.”
She couldn’t help it. She smiled back. It was the first real smile she’d given him in days. Later, when Mary Jane whimpered and turned her face into the pillow, Nora reached for the basin again. Weston stopped her gently with a hand on her wrist.
“I’ve got it,” he said.
She nodded and sat back, watching as he knelt, tender and patient, like this was something sacred. It wasn’t the same man who stormed off after supper. This version of Weston was quiet and dependable, solid in the places where everything else felt like it might fall apart.
“She’s all I have,” Nora said, voice barely above a whisper. “If something happens to her…”
Weston looked up at her. “It won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No. But I know she’s got you. And you don’t quit. That counts for something.”
Their eyes held for a long moment. The fire cracked beside them. For once, she didn’t look away. By dawn, Mary Jane’s breathing had evened out, and her fever had broken. She slept soundly, and a slight flush on her cheeks was there, but no longer frighteningly hot.
“She’s better,” Nora said, barely believing it.
Weston stood beside her. His face was drawn with exhaustion. “Told you.”
Nora looked up at him. “Thank you. For staying.”
He nodded once, then added quietly, “You don’t have to do everything alone, Nora. Not anymore.”
She wasn’t ready to answer that, but she didn’t pull away when he reached down and gently touched her shoulder. The morning light bled pale across the floorboards, thin and watery, like the sky hadn’t quite decided if it wanted to be day yet.
Weston now stood at the window, while his hand rested on the sill. “You and your sister,” he said after a long silence, “your folks…?”
Nora looked up, caught off guard by the gentleness in his voice. She hesitated only a moment before nodding.
“There was a coach accident,” she said softly. “Three years ago. We were headed to a cheerful family ride, nothing special. Mama loved things like that, any excuse to wear one of her nice hats. But no one knew what was about to happen that day...”
Weston didn’t move. She wasn’t sure he even blinked. “They died right away. Just like that, they were gone.”
Nora swallowed, brushing a strand of hair from Mary Jane’s damp forehead. “Mary Jane was barely two.”
Weston turned his head slightly, just enough for her to see the way his jaw tightened, the way his gaze became low and unfocused. “I’m sorry,” he said, and she felt he meant it.
Nora shrugged one shoulder, though the ache in her chest rose up again. It was too familiar and too sharp. “We got through it. Some days were harder than others. Still are.”
She studied his profile, the quiet shift in his expression. Something in him flickered and she recognized pain, just below the surface. “It looks like we have both lost a lot…”
That confession hung between them like breath in cold air. Weston’s mouth moved, just barely. But instead of an answer, he turned from the window and grabbed the basin off the table.
“I’ve got chores to see to,” he muttered, already halfway to the door.
Nora sat up straighter. “Weston…”
But he was gone.
The door swung shut behind him with a quiet finality.
Nora sat still, staring at the empty doorway.
Her heart, which had begun to soften toward him, now ached with confusion.
They’d sat through the dark together, weathered a night she would’ve been terrified to face alone.
For a moment, she thought maybe they were beginning to understand each other.
Now she wasn’t sure what had just slipped through her fingers.
She looked back at Mary Jane. She was still sleeping. Her little hand was curled under her cheek. Nora reached out and gently adjusted the sheet, swallowing the knot rising in her throat. One step forward, two steps back.